Christmas 2009: Challenge 4
by LadyFlamewing
Summary: Written for LiveJournal's frudence, who requested a fic set in the roleplay Edensphere - where characters are "born" into the world from fluid-filled cocoons, with almost no memory of their lives up to that point.


Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho or Ouran High School Host Club, or any related merchandise or characters, and I make no profit from the writing or distribution of this piece of fiction.

He wakes from his dream to find that he is suspended in some kind of fluid - viscous and thick - but manages not to panic. There is no burning, no pain in his lungs, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes that it must be breathable.

He has the odd sense that this sort of thing exists, back in...wherever it is he comes from, but he finds he cannot remember anything - not even his own name. He files that information away carefully - it seems like the thing to do - and reaches out, his limbs moving slowly through the strange substance surrounding him.

His fingers meet resistance, but it parts easily enough under his probing touch - more easily than he expected, actually, and he finds himself falling as the liquid around him spills out onto the floor. He's already bracing himself for a tumble and the following impact when his body seems to move on its own: instead of sprawling on the tiles, he ends up in a graceful crouch, his long red hair sliding over his shoulder in a heavy, sodden mass.

There are soft footsteps, and he glances up into a welcoming face and a warm smile - which something in him responds to immediately. So he smiles back and takes the towel she is holding out, standing and beginning to wipe the strange fluid from his body.

He feels no shame over his nakedness - and again, something tugs gently at the back of his mind, something he can't quite remember - and so makes no attempt to hide it as he listens to the explanations of this place called Edensphere, his new home.

She tells him, as she hands over a simple set of white clothing - a pair of loose pants and a matching shirt, both of which he must roll at the edges to fit his smaller frame - that he should have dreamed, his only memory, and that from that dream he must choose his own name.

The thought is curious to him, but she must see that on his face, because she smiles and says that anything will do - anything he felt a particular connection to in his dream. So he thinks, still toweling off his long hair and idly considering that he'd like a hot bath at some point (and preferably sooner, rather than later), and finally speaks: the first and only word he has said since his odd 'birth'.

"Rose."

She smiles at him, indulgent and warm, and with none of the mocking undertones he half-expected from his effeminate name choice - but it is the word that comes up most strongly from his dream, when he thinks about himself.

And then he hears a rustling from elsewhere in the large, white room, and the woman's smile widens.

"Looks like you're coming in with a family," she says, bending to pick up a little bundle at her feet, which the newly-named Rose can see contains another fluffy towel and a set of clothes very similar to his. She turns and moves towards the noise, and he follows curiously.

The noises are coming from another of the odd-looking pods, and as they approach it - the woman in the lead, with Rose trailing - there is the soft purr of tearing material, and the outer covering splits, spilling fluid and a body to the floor.

But this boy doesn't catch himself on the way down, nor does he seem to recover as quickly as Rose did. Instead, he remains on the floor - and as Rose watches, the boy shivers and curls in on himself.

He doesn't know what it is, but something about the newcomer tugs on Rose's heartstrings, and before he knows what he's doing, he's moving towards the boy. He pads through the puddle on the floor, noting vaguely that though he is making no conscious effort to stay silent, his steps make no noise. The cuffs of his too-long pants soak up the odd liquid, but that doesn't bother him much, nor does it make much difference to him when he kneels beside the boy and feels the wetness seep instantly into the fabric.

Slowly, he reaches out and places a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, and he supposes he isn't entirely surprised when the shivering stops, and the boy slowly lifts himself off the ground and turns his head.

Brown eyes meet green, and from the distance, Rose hears the woman say, "You were born together, which makes you brothers." He can hear the smile in her voice.

"Twins," the boy says, almost absently - as if he is not even aware that he is speaking - and then his gaze clears and his face breaks into a radiant smile.

And suddenly, this place feels a little more like home.


End file.
